As he stepped out of the room, Arthur's gaze fell upon Ralph, who stood just outside the door like a neglected pet.
His back was straight, too straight, as though any relaxation would betray something. The shadows beneath his eyes had deepened, darkening the already pale tone of his skin. Damp curls clung to his forehead, his gaze fixed downward.
"Tsk. How long have you been standing here? I told you to behave like an obedient dog, not to actually become one."
Ralph stood with the weariness of a soldier and the silence of a penitent.
"My apologies, young master."
"Stop acting like a pitiful dog, will you? Do you think I don't know your true nature? Anyway, get ready to leave, right now."
He hesitated just long enough for Arthur to sense the question forming in his throat.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll know when we get there. And don't ever behave in such a manner again. It sickens me. Do you think I'm unaware? That I can't tell when someone wears repentance like a mask? You feel no remorse for what you did yesterday."
A beat of silence stretched between them like a drawn blade.
"I apologize. But, young master, as untamed a dog as I might be… I won't be a hindrance in your path."
Arthur turned his head slightly.
"Yes. That had better be the case."
His eyes drifted past him to where Julia stood at a respectful distance, spine straight, posture unyielding. She had waited silently, as always.
"Julia, attend to Princess Ophelia in my absence and do not leave her side. I don't know what she might attempt again, so keep watch over her while also keeping her company. And give her whatever she needs or asks for, anything at all."
"Yes, young master."
He took a step past her, then paused, a thread of thought pulling him back.
"Also, have the doctor examine her in the meantime. I want no issues overlooked."
"As you wish, young master."
Without looking back, Arthur strode down the manor steps, the soft echo of his boots swallowed by the stone beneath.
Outside, the sky was a dull grey canvas, heavy with clouds that threatened to pour at any moment.
The carriage waited at the foot of the stairs like a silent beast, black-lacquered and gleaming faintly beneath the overcast light.
He stepped inside without a word. A moment later, Ralph followed and seated himself across from him, his expression unreadable.
'Let's see how much you've changed since the arena.'
The wheels turned, and the world began to blur beyond the glass.
***
Eloise had been adopted into the Whitmore family when she was younger, entering the household together with her mother, who became the second wife of Baron Whitmore after the death of his first. The Baron already had two sons from his first marriage, and they bullied her in their own different ways.
Then again, it was only a matter of time. After all, who would want someone else to take their mother's place, or welcome a sister who didn't share a single drop of blood with them? It was inevitable that their little pranks would grow into something more sinister.
Oberon Whitmore, the second son of Baron Whitmore, had been given too much freedom to do as he pleased. He would spend his days outside, partying and spending his time with different women, and other of his remaining time was used to torment Eloise, his adopted sister.
However, compared to Oberon, who sought every little detail of her whereabouts, his older brother, Anthony Whitmore, the eldest son, showed very little interest in Eloise. He would rather ignore her, even as he watched his younger brother bully her. Whenever she asked for help, he feigned ignorance and looked the other way.
The servants were no different. They gave her spoiled food, defiled her meals in vulgar ways, and when she fell ill, they treated her only for the cycle to repeat again. At times, Anthony would scold the maids, but never his own brother. He would then act as if he had done her a great favor, using the carrot-and-stick approach to make Eloise lower her guard and trust him.
But what he didn't know was that she had already overheard his conversation with a friend, in which he admitted he was simply waiting for the right time to sell her off to that very friend at just the right price.
As to why they tormented her and allowed others to do the same, the reason behind their hostility and feigned ignorance of all the cruelty, was because, in their eyes, their dear mother's place had been stolen by someone who came from the slums. They regarded Eloise as someone beneath them, someone vulgar, someone unworthy of even a proper greeting.
And that was how she had survived in the Whitmore Manor for over a decade.
She sat on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face almost buried in them, when Oberon entered the room.
"Eloise, why are you sitting like that? As if you've lost someone precious to you? Do you even know what it feels like to lose someone close?"
At his words, she turned her gaze toward him as she spoke.
"Why? Do you think you were the only one who lost his mother? I, too, lost mine and have endured your ridiculous pranks for over a decade."
Her mother had suffered from an illness for years and had passed away not long after.
"Didn't the doctor tell you to keep your foot in a comfortable position?"
"Why are you suddenly acting so concerned now? Why don't you just admit that you feel guilty about how I tripped and almost fell down the stairs? If it wasn't for that servant, I would probably have been much more severely hurt."
Eloise had tried to sneak out of the manor but had been caught by Oberon, and in the scuffle she had tripped and reached out her hand toward him, thinking he would catch her and save her from the fall. However, perhaps it was nothing but a wishful thinking of hers.
No matter all he had done to her, no matter how cruelly he had abused and tormented her, she had still hoped he would reach out. Instead, she saw only his devilish gaze and a cold, chilling smile.
She fell, but coincidentally a servant saved her; otherwise she would probably have injured her head or even died. Only then did she realize his true nature: he had wanted her dead or to turn her into a lifeless doll. Fortunately she survived the fall but sprained her ankle.
Ever since then, he had been visiting her every day to make sure she was still confined in her room, and each time, he would break something right before leaving because he couldn't control his anger issues.
"It wouldn't have happened if only you had behaved and stayed quietly in your room—"
"Like a dead mouse? You want me to do everything you ask like some doll, but have you ever done the same? Did you not tell me you wouldn't hurt me if I stopped going to work?"
Eloise's voice trembled as she clutched the sheets tighter, her knuckles white against the pale fabric. Her wide eyes followed his every move, as though calculating whether she should run or stay frozen in place.
He slowly stepped closer to the bed, each footfall heavy and deliberate, as if savoring her fear. The dim light caught the shadow of his frame, stretching it across the wall like a predator closing in on its prey.
"Are you trying to rebel against me now, hmm?"
His tone was mocking, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Are you merely going through puberty, or do you truly believe that lover of yours will come to save you, like some knight rescuing a princess?"
He leaned forward, his gaze sharp and merciless, cutting into her like a blade.
"No, he won't. I know men like him very well, Eloise. Since he has a real princess for a fiancée, he's surely already forgotten about you."
Eloise looked at him with a terrified yet unyielding gaze, her fingers tightening around the folds of her dress as if steadying herself.
"Oh, my dear brother, if only you had changed that habit of always assuming things, then perhaps you would have turned out less evil. You don't even know for certain that he is not my lover, nor has he ever gifted me jewels or other such things to tempt me, unlike someone I know."
A bitter laugh escaped her, though it sounded more like a cracked whisper than true mockery. Her eyes, however, burned with defiance.
"But who am I even trying to convince here? You, who have had your fair share of scandals, so much so that every single man now looks like an asshole to you."
She stood up from the bed and slowly approached him. Even though the pain was unbearable and her hands trembled with fright, she did not cower, not anymore.
"Don't you dare sully the name of my master. I will not tolerate it. Because, he's the most noble gentleman I have ever seen in my life."
He clenched his jaw; the veins in his neck tightened, and with anger burning in his eyes he looked almost demonic.
"Ha! This wench! What has he done for you that you're still blinded by him, hmm? Has he promised to marry you or something?!"
"Shut that damn mouth of yours, you bastard! Do you think everyone is like you?!"
He raised his hand to slap her, but his arm froze in midair, trembling with barely restrained fury.
"You… where did you learn such vulgarity, huh? Did that son of a bitch teach you to speak that way? Or was it your bitch of a mother you inherited it from?"
Eloise's lips curled into a bitter smile. Her body quivered, but it wasn't from fear, it was from years of swallowed rage finally spilling over.
"Ha-ha! Who would teach me such things other than you and your noble father."
His jaw tightened, and his raised hand slowly dropped. The veins in his neck stood out as he clenched his fists, knuckles turning white.
"Eloise, how far do you plan to take that vulgarity of yours?"
"How amusing, isn't it? When you do the same, it's 'discipline,' and when I do it, it's 'vulgarity'? How noble of you, brother."
Eloise's breath came in short bursts as she squared her shoulders, refusing to look away. Then, with a sudden burst of fury, she jabbed a finger at the door.
"Leave! Get out of my room, you asshole—!!"
Smack!